


The Life That Never Was

by Nehszriah



Series: The Thick of UNIT [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Dream Crab antics, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Malcolm being a love-struck idiot, Malcolm may or may not have grown up in Springburn (poor Springburn ): ), The Thick Of Unit, Third Doctor as a Dream Crab person, Twelfth Doctor as a Dream Crab person, UNIT, blended families - Freeform, cameos by the rest of Gordon's family via his dad, cracky crackship, cuddlecore, dating with kids, don't take chips from strangers, improper timing for a 6000-series Blackberry, references to other TTOU fics, references to then-current events, teenaged sass/dickery, timeskips of varying severity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: Don’t take things from strangers; that’s pretty simple to remember, yeah? They never tell you to not ask someone to dinner if you’ve known them all of thirty seconds, and that doing so could change the entire course of your life as you knew it.. . . . . . . . . . . . . .Malcolm Tucker's Dream Crab hallucination from chapters 16-18 of The Thick of UNIT, "diverging" from story circa the fourth section of Six Times (reading not necessary), with additional OCs played by the Third and Twelfth Doctors. Rated M for sexytimes and language.





	The Life That Never Was

**Author's Note:**

> I love AUs so much that I even have the tendencies to write AUs of AUs. This kinda came about because I was trying to figure out what sort of life the Dream Crabs had invented for Malcolm and how it would have impacted his regular life. That being said, this is nothing more than conjecture via the in-story dickery of that which is the Dream Crabs wanting to make sure Malc stays complacent while they kill him.

2001

* * *

Malcolm Tucker felt _great_.

He strutted down the pavement, jacket flapping about in the breeze. It had been a couple years now, but the feeling of quelling another true crisis, eliminating another Party-destroying disaster, was still great. The Spring day was even in agreement with him, as it rarely was otherwise, and little felt as though it could dampen his day. He spotted a chip vendor out of the corner of his eye and walked towards it, deciding to splurge. How could he resist?

Standing in line, Malcolm felt a tiny hand tug at the hem of his jacket. He glanced down and saw a little girl who was staring up at him curiously.

“Do you know where Mummy is?” she asked, not a lick of panic in her voice. It was Malcolm’s turn to get chips, to which he sighed in defeat.

“No, but I can help. You hungry?”

“Oooh! Yes, please!” She accepted the chips and they walked over to a bench that was on the edge of the adjacent park, with Malcolm sitting down and the girl standing on the seat, keeping a lookout while munching on chips. Her temporary guardian sat with his own, making sure the tot didn’t fall off the bench. She was adorable, like his niece when she was that age if he was honest, and he knew that had this been his Lex searching for Marcia, she would have felt safer knowing someone was watching over her until the cavalry arrived.

About ten minutes had passed before a woman came rushing up to the bench, scooping up the child in a big hug. Malcolm chewed idly on a chip, watching their interaction.

“ _Fiona Francesca_ , don’t you ever walk away from me like that again,” she scolded. “Where have you **_been_**?! I’ve been so worried!”

“I saw a butterfly, and I looked at it, and you were gone!” the girl explained. She then pointed towards Malcolm. “He had walkeded by us, so I asked him if he seen you, but he bought me chips and waited instead!”

“Oh my gosh, _thank you_ ,” the woman exhaled, finally noticing the man sitting next to her daughter. “Here, let me pay you back for the chips…”

“It’s no problem—I can see this having happened to my niece back in the day,” he grinned. Malcolm stood up and binned the chip paper, shoving his hands in his pockets afterwards. The bottle-brunette in front of him was cute as well, but the sort of cute that made his eyes flick momentarily towards her left hand—no ring. “Our little ones certainly have spirit.”

“That they do,” the woman agreed. She turned towards her daughter and hugged her tightly. “Now what do we say?”

“Thank you for the chips, Mister,” she beamed. Malcolm patted her head gently, giving her a smile in return.

“Now stay with your mam, yeah? She can’t go running after you all the time, and not all blokes who offer to buy you chips are nice.”

“Okay,” the girl giggled.

“I, uh… guess this is goodbye,” the woman said hesitantly. She had nearly turned around to walk away when Malcolm cleared his throat to keep her attention.

“Would it be rude to ask if I could treat Mam to something as well, since I’ve already had the pleasure of treating her daughter?” The question made her turn back around and his heart skip a beat. “Please…? If you’re free…”

“My name’s Kate, and actually… that sounds like a good idea,” she said, blushing slightly. “Do you have a day in mind…?”

“Malcolm; Friday, seven o’clock—do you know where Giuseppe’s is in Southwark?”

She raised her eyebrows at that in amusement. “Fancy, are we?”

“I went there a couple weeks ago with some people from work who wanted to look posher than they are, and I’d much rather go back with someone who would appreciate it—you seem like that sort of person.”

“Oooh, oooh, can I come too?!” the girl asked, bouncing up and down.

“It’s a grown-ups’ restaurant, sweetie,” the woman replied. “Maybe one day; for now, you and your brother still need to go to Granddad’s on Friday.”

“Granddad’s?! Neat! Gordy and I get to go to Granddad’s!” She continued to celebrate as her mother exchanged numbers with Malcolm and they parted.

Friday was going to be _fun_.

* * *

As it turned out, Friday was fun after all. Gordy and Fiona were allowed to stay the night at their grandfather’s house, while Malcolm and Kate made the most out of their first date. They talked until the wait staff gave them dirty looks for keeping the table under lockdown, heading back to his place for tea. There was no tea, however, and some aggressive kissing and petting took place on his sofa instead, disheveling them both and the friction of which made Malcolm pop off despite their fully-clothed state. It was embarrassing, but they both were laughing it off by the end.

Kate went back to her flat early that morning with the feeling that there was _definitely_ something to this Malcolm Tucker that she could _definitely_ get used to. She put the scrap of paper with the day and time of their next date on the fridge and nearly collapsed in bed—only a few hours of rest and she would have to be at her father’s house to pick up the kids.

She could do this, she told herself as she quickly fell asleep. There was nothing stopping her from juggling motherhood, ladder-climbing in the workplace, and seeing a man who was more than his fair share of charming and witty and silver-tongued. The thought of that tongue of his being put to good use was what accompanied her as she drifted off, leaving a smile on her lips.

* * *

Basking in the sweet, erotic afterglow of their night together thus far, Malcolm and Kate laid in his bed, cuddled up to one another to combat the unseasonable chill that was settling over London. She stared at the ceiling while tracing circles in his hair—that short, nearly curly, brown that was beginning to show signs of a dusting of grey.

“Malcolm…?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you come with me tomorrow when I pick up the kids from Dad’s?”

Lifting his head, Malcolm propped himself up on his elbow and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Yeah; I just thought it would be a good time for you to meet Dad and Gordon, is all.” She leaned towards him and kissed him gently before settling back down. “My daughter is how we met, but I think my father and son need to know who it is I disappear with as well.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that…?”

“Four months isn’t bad,” she shrugged. “I was just thinking we could spend tomorrow together—come over to the flat with me after getting the kids—you can meet Dad and get acquainted with Gordon and moreso with Fiona.”

“It won’t be… _awkward_ …?”

“No, it won’t; actually, it’s a bit overdue from my perspective.”

Malcolm exhaled heavily, curse words on his lips merely as things to say. “Fucking fuck—if it’s that important, then yeah… I’ll go.”

“Thank you.” She gently placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down towards her, bringing him in for a kiss. “You’re a good man, Malcolm.”

“Thanks—sometimes I need convincing of that.”

“Then on your back, and I’ll be sure you know it for sure.”

* * *

Morning came, the pale sunlight waking up Malcolm and Kate as they attempted to get a quick lie-in before the day began. That failed, however, when the Blackberry sitting on the nightstand began to chirp shrilly, its owner rolling over to snatch it grumpily, shifting back into his spot before answering.

“If I didn’t like you so much, I’d tell you to piss the fuck off,” Malcolm growled into the mobile. Kate took pity on her beau and fondled him as he stayed silent, listening to the most powerful man in the country blather on. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take care of it once I get some fucking trousers on.” Silence. “I did too get a leg up, contrary to what the office believes. Next time I feel safe enough to bring my lady around, I will.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate snatched the mobile from Malcolm’s hand had brought it to her ear. “I’m sorry, sir, but Malcolm will get to whatever it is you need him to do after he does what little it takes to care for me. You do understand, don’t you?”

“ _Uh, yes…? No problem_.” The Prime Minister sounded floored.

“Thank you, sir. Have a good day.” With that, she ended the call and placed it back on the nightstand. “You’re welcome.”

With Malcolm now fully aroused at her terrifying display of nerves, he and Kate were able to get a quick shag in before preparing for the day ahead. An hour later and she was driving while he was fielding calls, shouting into his mobile with reckless abandon while they headed towards her father’s house. He had just finished his eighth call when the car pulled into the drive.

“Try to keep the swearing to a minimum if you need to keep MPs and civil servants in line while we’re here,” Kate requested. “Dad’s no stranger to it, but Doris likes to pretend that she’s got virgin ears or something.”

“I’ll try, love,” Malcolm replied. He gave her a quick peck on the lips for courage and the two then exited the car to head up to the door. Kate was about to reach for the handle when Fiona opened it, a wide and toothy grin on her face.

“Mum! You brought Malcolm!” she cheered. The girl threw herself at the man’s legs, which prompted him to detach her from them and lift her up in his arms. She hugged him tightly as the adults walked through the house, eventually finding the remaining members of the household sitting in the family room.

“Dad, Doris, I thought I’d bring my new man over so that you can be assured he’s not a murderer,” Kate announced snidely. Her father laughed at that, standing up from the couch and holding out his hand.

“Name’s Alistair—so, you’re Malcolm?”

“Yes, sir.” He shook the older man’s hand, trying to balance Fiona properly on his hip. “Malcolm Tucker—I work at Number 10 in Communications.”

“A government chap, how lovely,” Doris said. “Please forgive me for not getting up—my knees have been bothering me lately—feels like rain. It looks like you’ve already made a friend, dear.”

“This nip? She’s the reason I’m even here,” Malcolm replied. He caught sight of the tween boy standing just behind Alistair and tried his best smile, the one usually reserved for his niece and her closest friend. “Hey, you must be Gordon. Glad to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Gordon mumbled.

“Your mam wanted me to come along to meet you as well—gonna make a day of it. Would you like that?”

The lad stared at Malcolm from under his mop of hair—so long it was starting to curl at the ends and cover his eyes—before turning his attention to his mother. “Can I stay with Granddad and Nana Doris a little while longer?”

“No,” Kate replied. “Go get the overnight bag and bring it to the car, please.” Gordon stood firmly, which only irritated her. “I meant: _now_.” The lad then stormed off angrily, his mother none too pleased. “What has gotten _into_ him?”

“I think it’s a lad thing, wouldn’t you say sir?” Malcolm said, turning towards Alistair.

“Probably, or at least very likely,” the older man agreed. He then showed his guests out, even though Gordon needed a bit of additional convincing, and soon Kate was driving her children and beau back to her flat. Fiona chattered excitedly the whole way, while Gordon stayed silent, listening to music on headphones the entire car ride. It was downright simple for Malcolm to deduce why the boy was so hell-bent on being irritating, and it had nothing to do with being at the age when most children were precisely that without even trying.

Eventually, Kate parked the car in a side-street and they all went into the flat block. The very moment the front door was unlocked, Gordon stomped into his room and slammed the door behind him.

“ _Gordon James Lethbridge-Stewart!_ ” Kate hissed, “ _You get back out here!_ ”

“Don’t yell; it’s making things worse,” Malcolm frowned. He pried Fiona off his leg, where she had latched on in the corridor, and put her on the sofa. “He’s right to feel this way.”

“What way?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll go—this is a talk between men,” he said. Malcolm went towards where Gordon had sulked off and found the lad’s bedroom door. Seeing the wooden surface covered with poor-quality computer printouts of various cars, superheroes, and rude cartoon characters reminded him of the room he shared with his own brother what felt like ages ago now. He knocked softly on the door, opening it up a crack.

“Go away,” Gordon snapped.

“Can we talk, please?” Malcolm asked. “I just want to say my piece and then you’re allowed to go back to hating me, I swear.”

The doorknob ripped from his hand as the tween opened the door further, standing there with a scowl on his face. Without a word, he went to his unmade bed and flopped down, folding his arms over his chest crossly. Malcolm carefully entered the messy room and sat down on the desk chair; this was already not going to be easy.

“Listen, Gordon, I already know about how you’ve not had the best luck with men dating your mam thanks to Loris, and I want you to hear out of **_me_** that if you _ever_ have a problem with me, or a question, all you have to do is talk to me and we can work it out.”

“No.”

“Now why not?”

“It may be okay to Mum and Fiona, but I’m not getting to know you. I might even ask to stay with Dad and Erica full-time for a bit.”

Malcolm frowned at that. “I’m stumped: why?”

“Someone has to be strong when you leave.”

Absolutely fucking floored by the lad’s words, Malcolm sat there gaping at him. Gordon rolled his eyes and sat up, glaring at the man.

“When you leave Mum,” he clarified. “It was bad when Loris left, and it’ll be bad when you leave. I’m not going to play family because someone needs to not be attached when it happens.”

“I’m not leaving… not like that.”

“How come you’re so sure?”

He thought about that, contemplating how to go from there. Malcolm knew that Gordon wasn’t one of the shitstains that he ran across at work, but even if he _could_ handle one of his famous bollockings, his lady’s twelve-year-old son _shouldn’t_ have to deal with one.

“Do you know how old I am?” he asked instead.

“…no…?”

“I’m forty-two,” he explained. “I’ve been married and divorced once—no kids on account of how short the marriage was and how often I got called away to work—and back then I wasn’t the one doing the walking out. It fucking _hurts_ being walked out on… I’m getting too old for that shit, and that doesn’t even mention the fact I’m way out the range of many a young lass ready to settle down and have a family. It happens, don’t get me wrong, but on the very first date with your mam, I knew I wanted to do me best to be at _her side_ and no one else’s. I accept that her nips will be the closest thing I have to children of my own, and if anyone out there finds something wrong with that then they can answer to me.”

“I have a dad, you know.”

“I’m not gonna replace your da; he’s a good man from what I hear and we’ll probably be decent enough friends in time. It’s true that you’re not my own flesh and blood, but that doesn’t mean that I want to ignore you or treat you like shit. A lad should feel welcome in his own home, and that includes being comfortable with any boytoy that Mam drags back to the flat.”

Gordon snickered at that, hiding it poorly behind an eyeroll. “So you don’t want to pretend to be my dad?”

“No—I want to be a male figure in your life, but your da’s your da and I’m not edging in on that unless you want it,” Malcolm replied. “I’ll pretend to be Fiona’s da in two shakes of a Spice Girl since hers is a fucking prick, but you’re old enough to where you can decide yourself who you want to be around.” He smiled inwardly as Gordon let out an audible laugh. “You like that one too? It was a hit with the Home Secretary the other day—has a daughter who blasts the damned album all day long.”

“Oh, gross,” Gordon giggled. “Rich people have to deal with that too?”

“Even _worse_ , since they can afford to send their daughters to the concerts with backstage passes,” Malcolm said. He waited for Gordon to finish laughing at the idea before patting his knee. “So, we at an understanding?”

“I guess…?” the teen shrugged. “If you and Mum don’t work out though, what’ll happen?”

“If we don’t, then it would be a gradual, mutual decision… one that takes into account all the factors, including you and your sister. I doubt we’d stay together because of you, but we would ease into breaking up so that it wouldn’t be too hard on anyone.” Malcolm tried to gauge Gordon’s expression—he was terrible at reading kids other than his own niece—and held out his hand. “Truce?” Gordon took his hand and shook it.

“Yeah, for now.” He narrowed his eyes critically, trying to puff himself up in a way Malcolm knew all too well. “Just remember that I’m watching you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Malcolm said. He stood from the chair and began to make his way towards the door. “Gonna figure out what’s for lunch; wanna come?”

“Nah—I trust Mum.”

Walking out into the main of the flat, Malcolm saw that Kate was having Fiona help her tidy up the place, which hadn’t been done before on account of his visit being more spur-of-the-moment than anything else. He picked up a fallen video cassette tape and handed it to the young girl, who took it from him with a grin.

“Thanks! Did you tell Gordy to knock it off?”

“Not precisely that, but he and I do understand each other better now,” he said. He gave Kate a look which contained all the information she needed until they could get in some time alone.

Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Sometimes it felt as though he wasn’t Director of Bloody Fucking Communications for the Bent-Arsed Prime Minister of the United Cunting Kingdom, but some other piece of low-lying scum within the chain of command. Things were a fucking _mess_ and the entire _world_ was panicking—not that Malcolm completely blamed them—yet no one seemed to want to listen to the man who was put in charge of press releases and official government reports so that they had the chance to calm the fuck down. Now, instead of going home and getting some God-damned sleep, he was babysitting his staff in the late hours of the evening.

“What the everfucking **_fuck_** is this?!” Malcolm shouted. He threw the printout at the intern who wrote it, making the fresh-faced lad cringe in terror. “This sounds like a fucking declaration of war!”

“Someone attacked one of our allies on their home soil,” the intern meekly defended. “Don’t you think it’ll happen whether we want it or not?”

“Oh, so does this mean that you’re volunteering to be embedded on the front lines? ‘Cause that’s where you’re headed with warmongering shite like this!” Malcolm put his hands on his hips and began to turn away, only to spin back around and point viciously at the posh-sounding mouse. “Rewrite it and make it look good this time, not like you were typing while wanking off to Triumph of the Twatish Will.”

“…what does that even mean…?” the intern wondered.

If one listened closely, it was nearly possible the sound of Malcolm’s already-taut patience snapping like a rubber band.

“Alright! That’s it! Get someone on this who isn’t a fucking inbred crust of eye gunk who knows how to write with as little bias as possible! Right now we are _not_ a political party! We are _not_ a public entity with agendas and opinions and opposition! What we _are_ is one community reaching out to another in a time of tragedy! Get that through your fucking heads or I’ll find a bunch of blue-arsed chimps to replace the lot of you!”

Storming from the room, Malcolm stomped the entire way to his office and slammed the door behind him so hard it bounced back open. It probably scared his new PA, but he didn’t care… not at this point. Expedited newspapers from America littered his desk and tables, all with photos detailing a series of horrific moments that made his stomach sick. Plumes of smoke were pouring from buildings, structures of steel and concrete collapsing in a dirge of deaths, and debris was flying everywhere. There was no word on how many were dead, who had survived, what the plans going forward would be, let alone if there had been a British national caught in the wreckages. Fuck… he was sure there would be at least a dozen.

“Excuse me? Sir?” He glared at the doorway and saw his PA jump a little, though she kept the tea tray in her hands steady. “I, erm, made up a tray for you—haven’t seen you eat anything all day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Samantha,” he muttered. He allowed her to bring it in and set it on the one corner of his desk not covered in newsprint; a thick sandwich, satsumas, and what smelled like Earl Grey tea. Taking a sip, he nodded at the bitterness. Somehow she knew he needed his tea straight and strong in times of panic, and for that he was glad. “Thanks—I needed this.”

“Mum called, by the way,” she said. “My uncle _was_ at work today, but his office was on a higher floor than where the plane crashed. He’s in the hospital now.”

“Does it sound like he’ll be alright when’s all said and done?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Good; once things settle down here, you’re taking two weeks to go visit and be with your auntie and cousin. They’re going to need all the support anyone can manage.”

“…but…!”

“You’ve seen what happens when people argue with me; don’t fuck up now, not after three weeks.” Malcolm brought Sam in for a hug, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She began to sniffle, then sob, into his suit jacket, clutching him tightly.

A few minutes passed like that and the office door opened further. Kate and Fiona walked in, carrying takeaway and a bunch of rolled-up papers. They stared at Malcolm, who gave them a trapped look and an awkward shrug. Immediately understanding the situation, Kate cleared her throat to alert Sam to her presence.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Sam gasped. “I’m not…! It’s just…!”

“Malcolm told me about your uncle earlier when he phoned,” Kate assured. She held up her bag and nodded towards it. “Masala tikka?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to…!”

“Please be okay, Miss Sammy,” Fiona said. She took one of the papers in her roll and unfurled it, holding it up for the woman to see. “I drew this for you earlier! It’s you at the seaside! You said you like the seaside!”

“Thank you, Fiona—I’ll hang this up right now. We need nice things around here thanks to the world and it seems like you have it under control.”

Dinner was quiet and pensive, with Sam leaving to answer her desk phone every so often and Fiona eating the contents of the tea tray once she discovered the masala was too spicy for her. Malcolm eventually found some camp beds he hadn’t used in months and set one up for his assistant in her part of the office, with one in his for the nip. He and Kate then sat on a couch and talked quietly, sipping Fanta and beer respectively.

“I don’t expect to see you much the next couple weeks,” Malcolm said, staring at a speck of air just past the coffee table his feet were propped up on. Kate pressed herself into his side a bit tighter and made a noise confirming she was listening. “They’re all running around like they’re fucking brain-dead—chances are I won’t get back to a more normal rhythm until November. I even caught a hint of maybe needing to go to America and help with some of the fallout there due to fucking alliances.”

“If you need me to, I can bring some things over from your place, keep some things together in case you need to leave on short-notice” she offered. “I can even take Sam along as well so she knows where to go in the future.”

“Thanks; you’ve already done more than you know.”

“I abused my UNIT pass in order to bring you takeaway during an international security frenzy and my daughter fell asleep in your lap.”

“Yeah, but you’ve given me a sense of normalcy to hold onto. Chances are that this fucking shit is only the beginning of something much bigger and longer. I’m preparing to take a red-hot poker up the arse multiple times before this is all done.”

“If anything’s going in your arse, it’s a doctor’s hand or something of my doing,” she stated. He nearly choked on his Fanta, making her chuckle.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Got to keep you guessing.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “UNIT’s in a bit of a frenzy if it’s any consolation.”

“A bit,” he admitted. Holding her a bit tighter, he rested his head on hers as they watched Fiona sleep. “She’s so calm—does she know what happened?”

“She knows, but I don’t think she understands. Jonathan told me that Gordon’s a bit shaken, though if you think about it, he’s old enough to begin really understanding things like this.”

“You know it’s fucking blasted when nips know the severity of what’s happening.”

Malcolm finished off his Fanta and placed the bottle on the table, picking up the large sheets of paper that Fiona had brought in. He leaned back to where he was before and began to look through them again; there were flowers and sunshine and woods, but most conspicuous were the people the child had drawn. Fiona had Malcolm taking her to a park, the trio of her, her mother, and Malcolm riding in a car, and she even included Gordon in a family trip to the seaside. The man knew what sort of treasures he was holding and it warmed his heart.

“I think I’ll hang these up in the morning,” he said.

“The big, scary, Scottish-browed Director of Communications is thinking of pinning children’s drawings up in a century-old government office?”

“Haven’t gotten around to putting Lex’s old ones up and these are more than acceptable substitutes.” He put the drawings down on the table and brought his feet down to the floor. Positioning himself wisely, he bent over Kate in order to kiss her deeply, glad for the slight reprieve they were allowed from the shit storm. “It could have been us.”

“I know.”

“It could _still_ be us.”

“It’s a possibility.”

Silence.

“Kate… I think I love you.”

She inhaled deeply, letting out air slowly on the exhale. “I want to say the same, but you know how dangerous that is.”

“Then don’t. It’s alright.” He began to kiss her again, only for his mobile to ring over on his desk. After cursing lowly, he went to answer it, keeping the conversation quiet. He ended the call in a huff, nearly throwing the device across the room. Malcolm went to Kate and left a quick peck on her lips before murmuring, “Duty calls—one of those arsewipe interns doesn’t know what the fuck discretion is.”

“If I don’t wake up with your face right here, I’m going to be disappointed in the state of the entire Commonwealth of Nations.” Kate pointed between her breasts and shifted so that she was laying down on the couch. “Give ‘em Hell.”

…and he left the office planning to do exactly that.

* * *

2002

* * *

Driving through the quiet Surrey neighborhood, Malcolm felt incredibly uncomfortable as he attempted to navigate his way. The subdivision was occupied by identical houses in identical streets with seemingly identical neighbors. It was a far cry from the eclectic London he lived in, let alone the Glasgow of his youth. He was certain that if the kids went through the sort of changes he did in classroom demographics, there would likely have been several riots. Pulling up into a drive, he shook the idea from his head as he went from his car to the front door, knowing that at least the occupants were not of such ilk.

After knocking on the door, Malcolm rocked on the balls of his feet before being greeted by a well-pregnant woman who gave him a warm smile. Had he thought about it two years prior, Erica Kowalczyk was likely one of the last people he imagined he would be helping, but the reason he was _now_ happened to be one of the best. “I was wondering where you were; the kids have been bouncing off the walls.”

“…which is precisely why I’m here,” he said. Following her into the house, he saw Gordon being comically assaulted by his two little sisters, Fiona and Naomi, the girls bouncing on his back as he laid on a couch. “Oi, time to get a move on, yeh wee monsters.”

“Oh thank God,” Gordon groaned as his sisters hopped off him to give Malcolm hugs. “These two are going to _kill me_ one of these days.”

“Stop being so dramatic and help Malcolm with the bags,” Erica smirked. She ruffled Gordon’s hair as he passed, eliciting a grumbled “ _Mum!_ ” in response. Turning towards her visitor, she rolled her eyes in amusement. “He’s been a bit odd lately; I’d watch out if I were you. Puberty is kicking into full-gear and it’s making him more awkward than usual.”

“Pretty sure it’s ‘cause he now knows what Dad and Stepmum did to make his little brother here,” Malcolm laughed. He bent down towards Erica’s bulging stomach and whispered, “Give ‘em all Hell, Jonny; just be nice to Mam first on the way out.”

“I’m telling Jonathan you said that,” Erica deadpanned.

“Mister Malcolm, are we staying with you or with Gordon’s mummy?” Naomi wondered, tugging on his jacket arm. He shrugged at that, trying to stay nonchalant.

“Well, we _could_ go back to the flat and all jam in there,” he started, “but Miss Kate said she talked to your parents already and we’ve got the okay to head on over to my place. It’s a house with a back garden and although you’ll share a room with Fiona, it’s much bigger than her room at Miss Kate’s.”

“See? I told you!” Fiona taunted. The younger girl stuck her tongue out and they both bolted from the room.

“I was going to send Naomi to my mum’s, but you were the one with the bright idea,” Erica said. “Think you’ll get Marco on your side of town and have the four of them together?”

“That’d be something,” Malcolm admitted. “It’s odd what happens when the children related by divorce all get together in the same room.” He then made his way over to the staircase and shouted up it. “Come on, kids! I want to make it back before the traffic gets too bad! You know how I am with traffic!”

“You’re funny with traffic, Mister Malcolm!” Naomi giggled, appearing at the top of the stairs. She and Fiona came back down, wearing colorful backpacks and with plush animals in-arms, and kissed Erica goodbye before bouncing off to the car. Gordon came trudging down the stairs a few moments later, handing Malcolm a large duffel bag before giving his stepmum a reluctant hug and kiss and walking out the door.

“Have Jon call us when you leave for the hospital,” Malcolm said as he stepped over the threshold.

“Yes, we will,” Erica replied.

“…even if it’s the fucking middle of the night…”

“…yes…”

“…and let us know when we can bring the kids to visit…”

“Malcolm! Relax! I’m having my second child—it isn’t brain surgery.” Erica chuckled as she watched the man’s ears turn pink. “Give my thanks to Kate again for taking Gordon when it’s not her time, not to mention Naomi.”

“You take Fiona on occasion, so it’s the least we can do,” he said. After a wave and a final goodbye, he put the duffel in the car boot and revved the vehicle up, ready to tote the tots back to a non-Stepfordian version of civilization.

“Hey Malcolm?” Fiona wondered as they popped on the expressway.

“Yes, Chips?”

“When is Mum getting off of work?”

“Well, that depends on what the tit she’s working under says,” he replied. “She wasn’t supposed to come back to my house until late, which means that you lot might be in bed by the time she arrives. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanna know because I want to make sure that we don’t get my room too messy before she comes home, ‘cause I don’t want her scolding us.”

“Fiona, it’s not _your room_ anyhow,” Gordon grumbled as he put a pair of headphones on. “It’s one of Malcolm’s guestrooms.” He plugged the headphones into his portable CD player and turned it on, drowning out the rest of the car to his ears.

“…but Malcolm! It’s a _blue room_! I **_love_** blue rooms!”

“Don’t worry, Chips; it’s yours while you’re there.”

“Why does he call you that?” Naomi asked.

“Oh,” Fiona grinned, “because when he found me, he bought me chips while we waited for Mum! Normally you shouldn’t take chips from strangers, but we were _very lucky_. Right, Malcolm?”

“That’s right. Now how about some music?”

Malcolm turned on the radio and was able to keep the two girls in the back seat quiet for the remainder of the ride to his house. He almost wondered if he had made a mistake as he went to unlock the front door with primary-schoolers jumping excitedly all around him. It wasn’t until he opened the door that he realized that he didn’t make a mistake, but a cunting fantastic cock-up with the surprise that awaited them inside.

“Fiona! Gordy!” Lex gasped from the sitting room. She ran up to her cousins (because no one was going to tell her that they _weren’t_ cousins) and gave them hugs, the latter of which squeaked in terror. “Uncle Malc didn’t tell me you were going to be here! Oh! You must be Naomi! You and Gordy look a lot alike!”

“I look like a boy?!” Naomi gasped in horror.

“No—it means Gordy looks like a girl!” Fiona snickered. Gordon slammed the duffel bag on the floor and stormed up the stairs, his face going scarlet in anger. A door slammed unseen, making Malcolm wince and the girls giggle—a fucktastically fabulous start.

* * *

Piles of freshly-delivered lumber littered the lawn, surrounding Malcolm as he surveyed the chaos. It was fucking ridiculous—there wasn’t an amount of swearing that could express this—and he was wondering if he should begin regretting the decision to be there.

“Are you sure we can put all this shit together ourselves?” he frowned, hands on his waist. He gave Gordon a silent look of exasperation, which the teen mirrored, only for Alistair to hold up the massive instruction sheet proudly from the other side of the lumber-orgy.

“Certainly! It says we only need two people, but you being here is going to make things much easier!” the older man said. “This D-I-Y business is an excellent bonding experience, don’t you think?”

“Granddad’s gone a bit soft, don’t _you_ think?” Gordon muttered.

“He’s gone something.”

“I heard that,” Alistair said blithely. “I suppose this means I’m going to take my role of ‘supervisor’ much more seriously now, hmm?”

“Fuck,” both Malcolm and Gordon grumbled under their breaths. The sun was already hot on their necks and sweat beading on their skin, which meant that they were in bollocks-high now. How a bank holiday weekend turned into this, neither of them had any idea.

* * *

Kate stepped out of the train and onto the platform, attempting to corral her kids and their luggage all at once. The station was busy with holiday traffic—choking up the year’s end with its typical seasonal aplomb—and she was determined to not let it get the best of them. She was about to snap at Gordon to hurry up when she felt a familiar hand take hold of bag in her hand, the comforting scent of cologne and citrus fruit filling her nose.

“Good to see you made it,” Malcolm chuckled. He kissed her neck, making Gordon grimace and Fiona giggle. “First Christmas back home for me in ages is shaping up to be a great one now that you’re here.”

“Flatterer,” she deadpanned, before turning back to the issue at-hand. Glaring down her son, she ordered, “Get a move on or I’m putting you on the next train back to London.”

It was the wrong move, as Gordon considered that and stood firmly.

“How about this,” Malcolm considered, “you come on and suffer my family with the rest of us or you go back to London and suffer Doris’s League of Dusty Twats playing canasta over and over and _over_ , using you as their serving-boy because Alistair’s hip magically isn’t doing well.”

_That_ put the necessary fire under Gordon and the teen quickly grabbed the remaining luggage, going along with the rest of the family out to Malcolm’s car, which he had driven all the way from London early that morning. From there they rode to a part of Glasgow that had the potential to be one of the rougher neighborhoods, with Kate not entirely sure about the scenes of semi-decay that they were passing by.

“Are we taking a shortcut?” she asked. The tone in her voice made her beau smirk.

“That building right there’s where I attended primary,” he said, pointing it out as they passed, “and I think they might’ve torn down the secondary, but I’m not sure. Marcia might know, but she’s over in Maryhill and doesn’t always pay attention to what’s happening in the old haunting grounds.”

“Is this place haunted?!” Fiona gasped in excitement.

“No, Chips; it’s more just in need of some care,” he laughed. “I got into journalism and politics to help places like where I grew up get what they deserve, helping out the good people get rid of the bad, and while it hasn’t been entirely successful, I know for a fact that _some_ progress has been made.”

“It’s a step up from a house boat, that’s for sure,” Gordon chimed in. He smiled smugly as his mother shot him a glare from the front seat, knowing she couldn’t argue that.

Before long, Malcolm pulled into a parking space in front of a red sandstone tenement squished in the middle of a bunch of other identical red sandstone tenements. Fiona jettisoned herself from the car, bouncing excitedly on the pavement while waiting for the others to catch up, and ended up being the one to ring the doorbell as the car was unpacked.

“Hello!” the girl grinned as the door opened. A tall man with wild, snowy hair and a green velvet jacket was standing in the doorway, glancing at her in puzzlement before catching the rest of the traveling party out of the corner of his eye. He bent down and patted Fiona on the head, giving her a kind smile.

“How are you doing, my dear?” he asked, his educated accent jarring compared to their rough surroundings. “I take it you are one Miss Fiona?”

“Yes!” she replied. “Are you Malcolm’s dad or brother? I know we were going to meet both! Which are you?”

“Malcolm,” the man called out, “I think you need to keep at least this one.”

“Fuck off, Da,” Malcolm snarled before closing the boot. “I didn’t shock my entire staff _and_ boss with my first proper holiday in years just for you to be a shit about it.” He and Gordon hauled the suitcases into the house and dropped them in the foyer. “Da, this is my lady, Kate Stewart, her boy Gordon, and her daughter Fiona. Everyone, this is my father, Sean Gabha.”

“Great to finally meet you, Ms. Stewart,” Sean said, shaking Kate’s hand. “I’m already acquainted with Miss Stewart here,” he continued, poking Fiona’s nose, “and now Young Mister Stewart makes three.”

“ _Lethbridge_ -Stewart,” Gordon mumbled. “Fiona’s a Ferrero, like her dad, but I’m Lethbridge-Stewart, like mum was before she dropped the first part.”

“Lethbridge-Stewart…?” Sean said, blinking curiously. “Now that’s a name I haven’t thought of in a long time. You wouldn’t happen to be related to an old war horse named Alistair, would you?”

“That’s Granddad!” Fiona squeaked. “Mum! That’s _your dad’s_ name!”

“Da, Stewart’s a Scottish name—what’s the odds that a Scottish family’s gonna have a fucking Alistair in it?” Malcolm scowled.

“This old father of yours still has a couple secrets about him,” Sean winked. He then turned towards the stairs, calling up it. “Florence! Malcolm’s here!”

“Ach, it’s about time!” replied an unseen voice, definitely more local-sounding than Sean. Malcolm’s mother then appeared at the top of the stairs, making her way to the foyer and pulling her son down to kiss his cheeks and forehead. “There’s m’wee Mael, back home after so long in that _heathens’ den_.”

“Mam, it’s the fucking highest government office in the bloody-cunting kingdom… _and_ it’s overrun with our lot.”

“Precisely me point, boy,” she said, patting the side of his face forcefully. Florence then turned her attention to the remaining visitors and welcomed them with open arms and too much physical contact for the teen’s comfort. She and Sean led their guests into the back for tea in the kitchen, and soon everyone was sitting down with their own cuppa. “So, did your brother and sister give you any indication as to when they were coming over? All three of the bairns and the two families under one roof is to be an occasion.”

“Marcia left before I got up this morning, and Johnny’s still marking papers for all I know,” Malcolm shrugged.

“Um, Mrs. Tucker?” Gordon piped up.

“Yes, lad?”

“I thought this was a flat block, but where’s the other flats?”

“Sean and I bought this building when we were expecting Mael’s younger brother,” she replied. “It was in such shit condition that it had been condemned, meaning we could fix it up the way we wanted and made it a one-family house.”

“The original two units per floor weren’t very big from what I remember—to the point a whole floor’s a flat these days for our neighbors—and we definitely needed the space as our children got older and they needed to be able to spread out,” Sean added. “It made things a little bit nicer for them growing up, and that was the point. Now, well, it makes for a great family gathering place.”

“Yet we still nearly all killed one another,” Malcolm muttered into his tea.

“Getting away from that; Florence my dear, guess what I learned before you came downstairs?”

“That your fucked-up fashion sense is so old it’s new again?”

“No—we have the distinct pleasure of having the Brigadier’s daughter and grandchildren in our midst.”

The kitchen went silent as the information sunk in. While the children were confused by the exchanged, their adults were worried by it, with Florence giving her husband a flabbergasted look.

“The Brig? Al? I thought the tit was getting hitched around the time you left. Any child of his wouldn’t be near Our Mael’s age… not unless he was keeping secrets.”

“He was marrying his _second wife_ —he always talked proudly of his daughter from his first marriage.”

“Well then, bust me nonexistent balls,” Florence marveled. “Al got a leg up and had consequences to it—never would’ve thought.”

“Mam… Da… what have you neglected to tell me over the past forty-odd years that would’ve made this conversation sound sane from the start?” Malcolm asked.

“Your mother and I both worked with the Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart once upon a time,” Sean said. He turned towards Kate and gave her a goofy wink. “Me more of course though—if your father was anything back then, it was a lad’s lad who didn’t socialize much with the ladies. Not a bad thing, just not how I raised my boys to be.”

“So if we ask Granddad if he knew you, he’d say yes?” Fiona asked curiously. She sipped at her tea and pondered the very idea.

“Maybe; it has been a long time, anyhow, and we only saw one another on occasion,” Sean explained. “I stopped working at UNIT back when Malcolm was…” He stared at his son for a moment, attempting to job his memory. “…about five or six. Back then, my wife and I took turns being at work and watching the children, but when Florence started being sent off on more dangerous missions, I retired and began to take care of the children full-time.”

“How do we know that you’re not lying?” Fiona said, cocking her head to the side.

“I don’t think he’s lying, Chips,” Malcolm said cautiously. He kept his eyes on his parents, despite the fact he wasn’t sure he believed them himself. “Mam… what do you remember?”

“Just like he said,” Florence said. “Al wasn’t necessarily my biggest fan, but he did have his mates. Your da was one, same with this bloke Benton and this bent upper-middle-something lad named Yates, and…”

“That’s enough—I believe you,” Kate said. Her voice was calm and level, having put on a mask of indifference. “I would, however, prefer if we leave the talking about the old days for later. As much as I trust Malcolm and the children, I am still a member of UNIT myself and I still believe in maintaining some degree of protocol.”

“Aren’t you the fun one?” Florence deadpanned. She and Kate exchanged cautious glares across the table as the doorbell rang and Sean left to answer it. “I bet you have a nice time at work thanks to being ol’ Al’s nip.”

“I dropped the ‘ _Lethbridge_ ’ to make sure it didn’t grant me any unnecessary favors; made things a bit too conspicuous and unnecessarily posh with the double-barreling anyhow,” Kate said. Malcolm and the kids sat uncomfortably as the standoff continued, only for the moment to be interrupted by Lex bursting into the kitchen.

“Uncle Malc! So glad to see you again!” she beamed, hugging her uncle from behind. After greeting everyone else, she stole Fiona and Gordon to see the “library” upstairs, only moments before Sean returned with a man who looked hauntingly similar to Malcolm.

“Ah, here we are,” Sean said proudly. “Both my boys in the house again after so long… it feels great.”

“Yes! Kate, this is my younger brother Johnny,” Malcolm said, hurrying to break the standoff between his lady and his mother. Kate shook her beau’s brother’s hand and studied him curiously. He was dressed in what looked like multiple layers of t-shirts, a jumper, a hooded sweatshirt, and plaid trousers that very easily could have been pajamas, with his short hair not only mussed, but catching her eye the quickest.

“I thought that you were Malcolm’s younger brother, but you’re greyer than he is.”

“Silver by thirty-seven—made it so that I didn’t get ‘ _beat violently with the age stick_ ’, as my niece puts it,” Johnny replied. He shrugged and jammed his hands in his pockets, glancing around the kitchen with a sort of frowning awkwardness. “Marcia had me bring Lex from her place because she had something to do last-minute. She needs to get away from those pudding-brained idiots that she’s trying to work with, because they’re stretching her too thin.”

“Considering your sister is as stubborn as you both, I don’t see that happening anytime soon,” Sean smirked. He watched as his youngest son went into the refrigerator and found some yogurt, his attempt to eat it thwarted by Florence intercepting him at the utensil drawer and smacking his hand away.

“You’re not going to be snacking all day like one of your shitty little students and then skip dinner,” she hissed. She took the container from him and replaced it in the refrigerator. He made a face at her, though she ignored it. “You need a fucking wife already; would keep you on a better track than that cunting boiled egg you call a secretary.”

“Taking care of me like that is beyond the boiled egg’s pay scale,” Johnny snipped back. “I’ve gotten on well enough so far…”

“Strap in,” Malcolm murmured in Kate’s ear. “Welcome to one of the reasons I don’t like to come home often.”

“Ah—makes sense.”

As Johnny and Florence began to argue, Sean offered a way out via more tea in the sitting room. The non-arguing adults were able to pass time civilly, making sure that at least part of the holiday was begun with some spirit of the season about them. Before long, a loud crash was heard from the kitchen and Johnny was seen dashing towards, then up, the stairs in retreat. Florence was not far behind with the broom, chasing her youngest bairn for daring to drop all her pans like that, just to be a bleeding tit.

It was simply another typical day in the Tucker Household, as Kate was soon to learn.

* * *

2003

* * *

There was a lump in Malcolm’s throat as he rang the doorbell to Alistair’s house, alone during this important venture. Actually, all the clichés of nervousness were in force while he stood in silence. He was nearly ready to run behind the hedge and vomit when the old military man opened the door, clearly surprised to see him.

“Oh, hello there, Malcolm,” Alistair said. He stepped aside, letting the younger man in. “I hate to say it, but Kate won’t be here to pick up the kids until tomorrow—didn’t you know about her conference?”

“Yeah, I know, and that’s why I’m here _now_ ,” Malcolm replied. “I need to talk to Gordon and Fiona; it’s important. Pretty sure we’d both agree that she accepts nothing her nips don’t approve of first… nothing this major, anyhow.”

Alistair paused for a moment and then nodded. “Very perceptive; I’ll fetch them from the back garden. Go ahead and wait in the front sitting room.” Malcolm did so, perching himself on the edge of an armchair. He bounced his leg anxiously as he waited—a fucking nervous tic he needed to stop—his heart leaping into his throat as he saw his lady’s children appear in the doorway.

“Malcolm!” Fiona ran up and crashed her entire body into him for a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming! Is Mum coming too?! Is her conference over?!”

“No, but I do want to talk to you and your brother before the conference is done,” he said, gently pushing her away. He watched as the siblings sat down on the couch next to him and Alistair gave him a wink before leaving the room. Once the door closed, Malcolm exhaled heavily, resting his elbows on his knees. It was now or fucking never. “I came here because I gotta know your opinion first before I do anything else.”

“Opinion about what?” Fiona wondered.

“It’s just…” Fuck, this shouldn’t’ve been this awkward. “…just… I want to know what you think of me being around. You know… if you think it’s been good or not.”

“It’s been _lovely_!” Fiona beamed. She bounced in her seat out of excitement. “Mum is always happier when you’re around, and sad when you’ve got work trips, and it’s fun to stay at your house like we’re a real family!”

“What about you, Gordon?” Malcolm asked. “You’re fairly quiet.” The teen stared back at him, silent. “You know why I’m here, yeah?”

“At least you have the decency to ask my opinion; Loris didn’t,” Gordon said. Fiona looked back and forth between the two in confusion.

“Wait, what? What’s going on?” she asked. She climbed into her brother’s lap, holding his face in her hands. “What are you and Malcolm talking about, Gordy?” The boy glanced at Malcolm and he nodded, giving permission.

“He wants to marry Mum,” he told his sister, “and he’s asking what we think about it and if we’re comfortable with the idea.”

At that, Fiona’s eyes went wide. “You mean, be our new dad?”

“I want to be your mam’s husband; whether I’m your da or just a stepfather or something in between is your decision to make, not mine.”

“Yes!” Fiona gasped. She jumped off Gordon’s lap and into Malcolm’s in order to cling tightly to him. “Please be our new dad! _I think_ that Mum will love it!”

“You sure?” He caught Gordon’s gaze and raised a brow. “What are your thoughts on the matter?” The teen leaned back into the couch, averting his eyes from his sister and mother’s beau both.

“It’s true that you treat us well, and Mum is happy with you—my only concern is what it’ll be like in the long-run… the things no one thinks about until they’re in it.”

“…like…?”

“If Mum gets a promotion at work and she’s out of the house more, what would you think of it? If _you_ get into a mess at work and we can’t see you for weeks on end, how would that affect the rest of us? What would it be like if an election’s called and the Party loses? Will we still be able to live like we do now? Can you imagine being old with Mum, so old you can’t be as active as you are now, or will you look at her one day and realize you’re no longer in love?”

“That’s plenty of worry for a lad so young,” Malcolm nodded. He held Fiona as he moved seats over to next to Gordon, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Your mam and I have both made mistakes in the past, but we’ve learned from them, and I wouldn’t be asking this if I wasn’t absolutely _sure_ that this was the path I wanted to take.” Pausing, he leaned in a bit closer, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “Would you like to see the ring I got her?”

Gordon looked at him and nodded slightly. Malcolm then dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out a velvet box that he handed to the teen, resisting the urge to shout as Fiona shifted on his lap to see and hit an uncomfortable spot. The siblings looked at the box’s contents—a golden ring with a deep-red garnet flanked by two smaller stones, one ruby and one opal—and were confused.

“I thought engagement rings were diamonds,” Gordon frowned. “This looks… weird… weirder than Nana Doris’s antique jewelry.”

“Those are birthstones,” Malcolm explained with a chuckle. “It looks a bit funny this way, but it represents all three of you. The center one’s your mam’s, the colorful one’s yours, and the ruby’s Fiona’s; I did it that way because it’s not just her I get in a marriage, but you both as well. You’d be my son and daughter, and fuck anyone who would try to ‘correct’ me on it. I can’t pick and choose what parts of a woman’s life I get if I marry her and that right there is the proof.”

“You mean it?” Gordon asked, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“Or you may have me publicly castrated and force-feed me a smoothie made of what gets chopped off,” Malcolm swore. The lad closed the ring box and nodded, handing it back with a sniffle.

“Is it alright if I don’t call you ‘Dad’? At least not right away?”

“Call me a bent twatbubble for all I care—as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“Thanks... I appreciate it.” He leaned in and hugged the man, his little sister joining in without being prompted. It wasn’t going to be like before, it was going to be _better_ , and he wasn’t going to be torn up again. His sister wasn’t going to go through what he did when his mother married the first time. The man sitting on the couch with them might have been a sweary shit, but he was a sweary shit that cared, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

The following day, a car pulled up to the Lethbridge-Stewart home in a very unassuming manner. The driver got out and used her own key to go through the front entrance. When no one greeted her, she moved through the old home cautiously.

“Dad? Kids? I’m back!” Kate called out as she put her bag down in the foyer of her father’s house. She noticed that the place was very quiet—too quiet to currently be housing a teen and a child.

“Ah, there you are, dear,” Doris said, walking into view. She gave Kate a kiss on the cheek and hooked their elbows together as she led her further into the house. “The kids have been so good this visit, though they’re anxious to see you.”

“That’s good. Is that arthritis treating you better today?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter much,” Doris said. “What has me feeling good today is _you_ , Kate.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of replying, Doris simply continued to walk with Kate until they were outside in the back garden. Alistair, Gordon, and Fiona were all sitting at a table set up underneath a tree, tea laid out for them all in the late Spring sun.

“Mum! There you are!” Fiona giggled. “We’ve been waiting for _ages_!”

“Now what have we discussed about hyperbole?” her mother gently scolded.

“It’s not hyper-bolly, it’s how it feels!”

“We have a surprise for you, Mum,” Gordon said, taking over for his sister. He helped Doris sit down in a chair before stopping his mother from taking her own seat. “Nope—first, there’s something that you need to see.”

“Gordon James Lethbridge-Stewart, what are you talking about?” Her son simply smiled, causing Kate to glance around. There wasn’t anything unusual or out-of-place about the garden, or tea, or who was there… until she noticed, “There’s an extra place set. Who else is coming?”

“I’m already here, love,” Malcolm replied, stepping out from behind the tree. Kate rolled her eyes in amusement as she walked around the table to meet him, but stopped in her tracks when she saw him bend down on one knee.

“Malcolm…?”

“Katherine, this hurts m’leg and back, so please don’t try to argue anything until I’m standing upright,” he said. He then took the small velvet box from his pocket and opened it up, holding it so she could see the contents clearly. “I got the all-clear from the kids; would you like to join me in trying the whole marriage thing again? I think we’ve both upgraded a bit since our last attempts.”

“Stand up, Malcolm, you’re making a fool of yourself,” she said. He did and stepped closer to her, showing her the ring. She nodded and allowed him to put it on her finger, at which she tearfully kissed him. Neither of them noticed the clapping from their audience. None of it mattered. What mattered was them, at that moment, and they were together.

* * *

The ceremony was simple, taking place in Alistair’s back garden. A few friends and family members were there as witnesses, as that was all the couple needed, with dinner being immediately after. Once the teens and children retreated to the house, the adults stayed up late into the night chatting away. They dispersed in the early hours of the morning, letting the young ones sleep where they lay in front of the television and allowing their elders to get some much-needed rest in peace.

Though, with twilight’s birdsong accompanying their own soft declarations, the newlyweds repeatedly consummated their vows as dawn broke. Tucked away in their own corner of the house, they found in themselves the energy of a pair half their age, pleasuring and lovemaking until they were sore, exhausted, and completely spent. They fell asleep to the sounds of the waking world and their own breathing, content in the only way they knew how: by having turned off their work mobiles.

* * *

 “Hi Miss Sammy!” Fiona said cheerfully. She ran up to the woman’s desk and gave her a hug, happy to be there. “Dad says it’s my turn to come along with him this year!”

“That must mean we’re getting Gordon next year,” Sam chuckled. She saw Malcolm pass them by out the corner of her eye and knew that today was going to be a handful. It was only chance that made it so that Fiona was one of the few children in the building that day and both adults wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t end up disastrous in the end. “Say, you settled into your new room yet?”

“Yeah! It was really easy since I already stayed there before Mum and Dad got married, but now it’s _officially_ mine and it’s _neat_.”

“That’s good…” Sam was then cut off by the sight of Jamie in the doorway to the office. “Oh, you’re just in time—Malcolm showed up not two minutes ago.”

“Good; ay, hey there lassie.” Jamie bent down and patted Fiona on the head. “You here for the take-your-kid shite?”

“Yup! Dad’s gonna let me watch him bust balls and terrorize tits and twats! Don’t worry Uncle Jamie! I can handle watching _any_ bollocking Dad gives!”

“That’s our wee hellion, let’s get inside.” He followed Fiona into the office and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets while sitting down on a chair arm. “Malc, yeh got the briefing I need for Health?”

“Yeah, it’s in here.” He glanced up at his enforcer and raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the nips? I’d thought you’d be dragging them around… unless they’re all leashed up at your office.”

“Naw; Jeanette don’t want me bringin’ them until they’re at least double-digit ages. I’m surprised that Kate let yeh bring the wee one.”

“It was either this or let her go in that hole-in-the-ground where Kate’s shut in all day,” Malcolm shrugged. He found the paper Jamie needed and handed it to him. “If Lex came with me a couple of times and didn’t get fucked up, then Fiona’s more than capable of handling it here.”

“No Gordon?”

“He’s at his dad’s!” Fiona offered from across the room. She was staring out a window, trying to gauge how high up they were. “Mister Jonathan brought Gordy to _his_ office, so that means he’s spending an extra week with Naomi and Jonny! I get Mum and Dad all to myself for extra time now!”

“Well look at this darling—she can’t possibly be yours, Malcolm, or you’ve been keeping secrets,” a voice smirked. Malcolm and Jamie both glared at the door to see Julius Nicholson waiting on their attention. Fuck—Sam must’ve stepped out for a mo’. “I wasn’t aware you had children.”

“He’s not my _first dad_ , but Malcolm’s my dad now!” Fiona said happily. “He married Mum, so now he’s my dad!”

“How noble.”

“What do you want, Your Honorable Baldness?” Jamie scowled. “Can’t you see we’re having a meeting?”

“Then it’s a good thing everyone is here, as we need to have a chat about that policy change that’s been rumored to drop tomorrow.” Julius opened his mouth to continue, yet stopped when he realized the child that had been by the window two moments ago was now pulling at the hem of his jacket. “Yes, darling?”

“Do you have cancer?”

Malcolm and Jamie had to quickly stifle their laughter while Julius bristled at the comment. The lord knew that he couldn’t reprimand such a young child, so instead he leaned over and patted Fiona on the head.

“No dear—I never had a lot of hair to begin with, so when it began thinning and falling out due to the immense stress of governing, I decided to shave it all off. I cut my shower times in half now that I don’t need shampoo.”

“Oh…” Fiona nodded to herself, piquing Julius’s interest.

“What did you just decide, darling?”

“If _my hair_ starts falling out one day, I’m going to get wigs,” she said. “I don’t wanna look like you.”

“Well,” he laughed awkwardly, “I doubt you’d ever look like me to begin with.”

“That’s because I’m not going to look like a shaved penis, not _ever_.”

Julius attempted to leave the room with his dignity intact, yet it was impossible to do so with Malcolm and Jamie howling in laughter after him.


End file.
